


Wrapped My Thoughts Around Your Mind

by Anonymous



Category: Actor RPF, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) RPF, Roman J Israel Esq, The Perks of Being a Wallflower - All Media Types
Genre: ---and no one is surprised, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover Pairings, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, George is a Senator Not A Lawyer, M/M, Mistaken Identity, One Night Stands, Patrick has a last name, Washington D.C., because i'm hilarious, keeping up with joneses, mild sugar daddying, politics are like second fiddle to the porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He eyes the young man, and watches his date nudge him over to the bar. He orders two glasses of white in a somewhat squeaky voice, and George knows, this must be his first outing. His first client. First big event. He’s shaking a little.





	Wrapped My Thoughts Around Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> this is obvious what it is, and i hope you enjoy it.

“Senator Pierce! George, right? How are you?”

He’s yanked out of his thoughts and forced to quit staring at the gorgeous dark haired young man standing three feet away chatting with a blond with a pixie cut. Each of them are laden with a glass of champagne. Some overfed and overpaid representative needs his attention. He pastes on a smile and shakes the man’s hand, cringing internally at the reek of the man’s cologne, also overdone, and finally escaping a few minutes later, with the excuse that he needs a refill.

 

Ever since Janet left, well, he’s drank more and spent money, because there’s little else to do when not working. Charity galas are just pointless ass kissing fundraisers most times, and he’s just there to make an appearance. He checks his watch again, wondering just how early he can duck out, only to look up and catch a stare from the exact same guy again. He smirks, and the guy drops his gaze, ducks his head and takes a sip of his drink. George approaches the open bar and requests his usual, whiskey sour, before gratefully accepting it and downing half in one swallow. He’s going to leave and soon.

 

So there’s no point beating around the bush any longer. Luckily, he doesn’t have to do anything. He eyes the young man, and watches his date nudge him over to the bar. He orders two glasses of white in a somewhat squeaky voice, and George _knows_ , this must be his first outing. His first client. First big event. He’s shaking a little.

 

Putting on a winning smile, George sidles over and clears his throat,

“You must be new. Hard liquor is the best thing to distract from these parties.”

He gets a wide eyed stare in reply, and then a nervous smile.

“Yeah? I’m a bit of a lightweight so I try to be careful.”

“You’re not driving home are you?” George comments, and the guy shakes his head, sending dark curls rustling over sharp cheekbones. One perfect curl hangs over his forehead, obscuring a heavy but painstakingly lined brow. “We came in a car. But I think we might walk back to the hotel. It’s nice out.”

 

For November, it’s been exceedingly mild, and somehow George thinks it’s merely the calm before the storm. Snowstorm, that is. Talking about the weather is so dull, he doesn’t want to fall into that trap. He uses it as a fallback if there’s utterly _nothing_ to talk about with rentboys, so it’s a last resort.

“What brings you to the gala? Vacation or business?”

 

The guy takes a hasty drink of his wine, and then blinks over at George, “Well, work. Yeah.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?”

He’s not sure if the guy gets what he’s really asking, but there’s a genuine nod there, then the response of, “I guess? It’s not exactly hard.” George bites back a grin, and then finishes his drink. The guy eyes him, and takes in the suit, the blue tie with gold specks. “What do _you_ do?”

 

George sets his empty glass down, and holds out his hand. It’s cold and damp from the condensation, but the second the guy takes it, he warms up.

“I’m a senator. Originally from New York. I live here now, just because it’s easier. It was a killer commute.” He’s joking, badly, and the guy laughs anyway. God, he’s pretty when he’s sober faced and fucking stellar when he’s not. “That’s so cool. I’d ask for your autograph but then I’d look like a total idiot.”

George grins in earnest, “You know, you’re just cute enough I’d allow it.”

 

“Senator uh, wow a senator thinks I’m cute? I need to tell Sam.” He looks around for a moment, locating his date easily, she’s on her way over. George falls back into socializing mode, though there is a wave of disappointment as he realizes of course, he can’t just pull the guy away from his current client.

“Hey Sam…”

“Hey. You ready to blow this joint? I mean… shit I shouldn’t say it like that. Fuck.”

Sam meets George’s amused gaze looking mildly panicked, and he shakes his head.

“Not to worry. I joke about assassination for my competitors quite often.”

 

The guy leans in and whispers something to her, which George pretends not to care about, and then Sam says something back, before beaming. She walks off after a quick ‘Nice to meet you,’ and George is left frowning, wondering if he needs one more drink before going home alone, and flipping through his black book.

 

“So. I don’t suppose you know of somewhere more fun to go?” the guy says, giving him a smile, and a quirked brow. George blinks, “Do you want a club recommendation for you and your lovely date?”

The guy looks genuinely confused, spluttering none too elegantly,

“Wh-what? My date? Oh god. No! That’s my _sister_. I’m just here to keep her company.”

“Sister? Hmm. Okay. well, tell me your name, and I’ll think of someplace we could go.” It slips out, unbidden, and George almost regrets it, until he sees the sparkle in the guy’s eyes. Interest.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been rather dumb. I’m Patrick… Jones. That was my sister who’s apparently supposed to speak in Congress next weekend so… that’s why we’re here.”

George is surprised at the level of information he’s getting, as well as how graciously Patrick, it seems, is dancing around the entire subject. “I’m George, Pierce. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you both.”

 

“Yeah she’s excited for the politics, I’m here for the sights.” George catches a glance thrown his way, one that starts from his tie and drops quickly to his shoes and back up. He’s done plenty of looking on his own. “As far as I can tell, the best things to see are usually crawling with tourists.”

Patrick laughs, “I’m one of them, technically. Only been in town three days and I’ve driven Sam nuts with all the museums I’ve been dragging her to.”

  


The fact that Patrick is managing not to hyperventilate while standing there, clutching his half empty glass of white wine, and being led in conversation with an extremely hot and well dressed Senator anything is a miracle. Then of course, Sam has to go and make it weird, telling him she’ll be up waiting for his confirmation text that things are okay, if he’s not back to the hotel by midnight.

 

The man, the Senator Pierce, is just… too much all at once.

When he asks Patrick if he needs a ride somewhere, and he doesn’t spot Sam, he just nods.

Then they’re going outside, the night is balmy, and he’s starting to sweat. Until they get into the senator’s fancy car, and leave for… wherever. He texts Sam that he’s probably not going to be long, but he asks where they’re going to tell her. Also, in case Senator Pierce is some kind of crazy person. He adds the man’s full name and state he’s from to help. Sam will google him and get back to him. If need be, he can always jump out of the car. He’s always wanted to be a stuntman. Or an actor. Maybe a writer too.

 

They’ve been driving for about four minutes, traffic is rather shit for so late, half past ten, and that’s when Patrick feels a hand on his arm. He swallows thickly, and tries to keep his voice even.

“Did you wanna maybe-”

“I don’t actually want to go to a club. I’d much rather go back to my place. Is that alright?”

The man’s smiling like he knows Patrick is going to say yes, this is a sure thing. God, is he that easy to read? He thought he’d gotten better in the months since graduation… but apparently not. “Yeah.”

 

The touch that could have been mistaken for just friendly gets heated within seconds, as the man leans over, and puts his mouth to Patrick’s neck, just below his ear.

His heart skips a couple beats, and his mouth goes dry. He’s definitely hard now.

“I think you know the basics, but I’ll tell you anyway. You’re fucking gorgeous. I’d like to kiss you. But not here. Don’t wanna give the driver a show, now, do we?” Patrick lets out some kind of ungodly noise, and he can feel the Senator smiling into his skin. “Mmm, yeah no, we don’t, you’re right.”

 

He gets a soft chuckle in response, and then the Senator pulls away, leaving him practically aching, desperate for more. God. How long has it been since someone touched him like that, like they wanted to, and it wasn’t a chore? Patrick can’t remember. Now the car ride seems never ending, and by the time they’re pulling into some fancy ass neighborhood, Patrick’s vibrating out of his skin. His door is opened for him by the driver, and he drops his gaze at once, sure he’s going bright red in the face.

 

The senator tells the man to have a good night, thanking him for his work, and Patrick dimly wonders how the fuck he’s supposed to get back to the hotel, but that’s less important for the moment. Now he gets to watch the man fumble with his keys, get in the house, and try to take in the views. Patrick has about five seconds to do just that before he’s being embraced from behind, and the senator’s burying his face against the collar of Patrick’s jacket, and nosing into his neck again. He’s so hard it hurts, and reaching up to palm himself right now might come off as… overeager.

 

He’s not overly crude, not rocking his dick into Patrick’s ass, but he’s definitely… clingy.

“Go on baby, tell me something. What do you want?”

Patrick almost squeaks in reply, “You said we could kiss?” Is this normal?

One night stands that start so slow and so… businesslike? Maybe this is just what’s done in D.C.

A blunt scrape of teeth along the side of his neck and around to his jaw, before Patrick’s being released so that the man can back him up, brace him into the wall gently, and grind his hips forward, bringing their dicks together, mouths inches apart. “You got it.”

 

Patrick has a moment of wonderment and then their lips are meeting in a slow filthy glide of wet warmth. He’s clean shaven for the party, and so is the senator, but already he can feel a rasp of stubble, the days growth can’t be held back. God, he wants to feel that burn on his inner thighs, over his stomach. What on earth is wrong with him? Zero to sixty much? He groans as he can feel the senator continuing to roll his hips forward against him. This is so good it’s bad. He’s going to end up slipping up.

 

“What should I call you, sir? Senator? Mister Pierce?” The man smiles as Patrick breaks the kiss, and then pulls back to look at him, eyes dark, intense, pupils blown wide from lust.

“You can call me whatever you like. Preferably something short and sweet. Similar to god. For when I make you come.” He chokes on his own saliva, and then exhales slowly, “Sir… is pretty close.”

The senator nods, “Excellent. I’d rather be that than _Daddy,_ if you don’t mind.”

Patrick blinks rapidly, unable to be even disappointed at that, and allows himself to be led away from the wall, still buzzing with arousal, cock leaving a wet spot in his pants. “Oh-okay.”

 

This guy is really, really not the best level George has had, but of course, in the last six months he’s probably sampled every decent rentboy in Washington, who can be discrete and also flexible. It’s surprisingly challenging to find one who doesn’t balk at the idea of fucking him, rather than the other way around. He knows, his entire image is meant to be intimidating, do the job, fuck the world and get paid for it. But it’s just… not always the case. Winding down sometimes just means getting a good dick. That’s what he pays for.

 

This, Patrick guy, is very bad at being smooth, bad at asking for what he wants, laying it all on the table. George doesn’t even know how much he costs for christs sake. But he _does_ know he needs to get him naked and on his knees, pronto. His cock is hard, despite all the liquor he managed to consume at the party, and he takes it like it’s a sign from god. He’s going to have a good time with this guy, and that’s that. He’s so pretty he can make George hard from a kiss, so he’s fairly confident in the goods.

 

The second he’s in his bedroom and the guy moans into his mouth, George about trips on his way out of his shoes, while Patrick scrabbles for a hold on his suit jacket. “Clothes, off, quickly.” He doesn’t mean to hiss it, but he’s running low on patience, and he gets a whimper for his trouble. That’s a beautiful sound, he thinks. He strips methodically, effortless, and uncaring about wrinkles, while Patrick seems to be going at a rate like he’s expecting his clothing to rip like tissue paper if he’s not slow about it. A rented suit then.

 

George is tempted to lend a hand, but before he can do anything, Patrick gets rid of his pants before his shirt, and there’s a magnificent dick staring him in the face. The guy fumbles with his bowtie and vest buttons, and George reaches down to stroke over his own cock, fighting the urge to say a prayer. He doesn’t even believe in god, but damn, if this is what he gets for putting up with a fairly bad intro to the night, he’s very, very repentant and grateful.

 

“C’mere.” He says, voice rough, laced with a hint of an order, which he sees Patrick react to, cock jumping, hands shaky as he makes his way over to the bed. George sits on the edge, staring up at him, unblinkingly, and Patrick licks his lips. They’re pink, plush and full, but they’ll be even juicier once he’s sucked _George’s_ dick. “Do you want me to-” Patrick breaks off, and his eyes lock on target, making George smile, “Yes. Please, baby. Get on your knees for me.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

God that should not be as sexy as it is, because he distinctly remembers how the guy has a few inches on him, height _and_ something else. George keeps his hands flat on his spread thighs, watching Patrick settling in between them, and looking up at him expectantly. “Well. Go on.” George gets a moment of wondering if perhaps he’s this guy’s first _everything_ , before Patrick ducks down, and swallows around his dick in one fell swoop.

 

The swipe of a tongue against the slit, the flick on the underside, and then excellent suction and release with an obscene noise. Well, okay, there _is_ something Patrick is skilled at. Hopefully more than just this, George amends his thought. Patrick keeps going, taking him as deeply as he can without choking, and when George follows through on the desire to touch the guy’s hair, fingers carding through the long dark curls, he gets a moan for his trouble, and his hips jerk up automatically. “Fuck.” That feels good. So good, he might just come soon if he’s not careful. The best thing he knows how to do is to recall paltry debates, shitty speeches and boring dronings of other senators.

 

George’s eyes fall shut as he loses himself in the minutiae of work to prevent embarrassing himself. But Patrick knows what he’s doing. He leans in until his fairly large nose is brushing against George’s stomach, surely tickled by the hairs below his navel, and then both his hands find George’s to squeeze on them. Their fingers almost link, before Patrick reaches down, grazing his fingers along the swell of George’s testicles, and barely caressing lower, just enough to tease him.

 

He comes with a strangled shout, probably tugging too hard on Patrick’s hair, and mainly in effort to urge him back, and off, because they didn’t even discuss this, swallowing or spitting, who’s clean, who’s okay with what? This is the _worst_ encounter he’s ever had while also being the greatest thing he’s ever done. Patrick is by far the prettiest rentboy he’s run into by accident. He catches a glimpse of his own come dripping off of Patrick’s lower lip and chin and bites back a groan. He _didn’t_ manage to swallow it all.

 

George falls back onto his bed, and lets Patrick keep touching him, long after his dick slides free of the guy’s mouth, and he’s shaking through aftershocks. “Was that okay sir?” George chokes on a laugh,

_“Okay?_ Uh. Yeah, it was fucking swell. You did great. You want to uh...try something else?”

Patrick sounds as wrecked as George feels. “Okay. Like what?” He sits up just to be able to catch sight of Patrick’s mouth again, now licked clean, and oh, that’s nice enough to entertain him for days.

 

“Have you ever uh… gone south?” It feels very stupid to be asking like this, for all he knows, Patrick isn’t used to doing more than blowjobs or handjobs, George hasn’t a clue. “Like, eating ass?” He exhales in relief. “Yes. That.” Patrick hums, and then leans down to rest his cheek on George’s thigh,

“Yeah. Not very well. But if that’s what you want, I can try. Promise not to get your hopes up?”

George sighs, “Look it’s not hard. I’m basically… on cloud nine right now. Anything but teeth will feel good.”

 

Why is he doing this? Cheerleading his rentboy? Patrick blinks, and George realizes he’s hard of course, kneeling on the floor when he could be on the bed, having this discussion. “Come here.” Patrick rises slowly, and lets George take in all his pale bared skin as he looms over him. Compared to George, who gets a regular tan once every three weeks, Patrick is practically a vampire in appearance. He’s kinda, a lot, into it.

 

He watches George for a long moment before settling down in his lap, and ducking down for a kiss. It tastes like bitterness and salt and sweat, and Patrick’s the one who moans first, before George starts shuffling weakly back on the bed, so no one is in danger of falling off or over when he finally gets his hands on that gorgeous dick. That is, until Patrick pins him down, and rolls his hips against his stomach. God, as if he could forget about Patrick’s incredible cock.

 

He reaches between their bodies and puts a hand to it, just for kicks, and his fingers can’t meet. At first. He tries again, stroking down the length of it, and he feels his thumb touch his middle finger for a split second, before Patrick’s whimpering, asking if he’s going to fuck him.

“No. I want you to fuck _me._ After you’ve eaten me out. Okay?” Patrick visibly gulps, and George pets his other hand down the guy’s naked back. “Is that… really? Are you sure?” George hums, “Pretty damned.”

  



End file.
